The Lovely Insane
by talleylea
Summary: He almost wished the Nogitsune was still possessing him, and doesn't that just sound fucked up. OR After the Nogitsune is killed, Stiles suffers PTSD, and is drowning in guilt over Allison. AU. Rated T for language. **Was previously titled Bloody Hands.**
1. Bloodied Hands

**This is a story that revolves around Stiles and shows how he copes after the Nogitsune is gone. I feel like he would've gone through some sort of disorder after the whole nogitsune ordeal, and I'm a bit sad that they made him seem perfectly healthy in his mental state, because I personally believe something would've happened to him, something would've changed. This is my look on it. It is AU, obviously, but I still hope you like it.**

**I also realize it will most likely get confusing in some points, but that's how I wanted it. The story is told almost like you are in Stiles' head, and I personally think that head of his is scrambled, and he's confused, so very confused, and so I tried to portray that as best as possible.**

**Please review, it would make me very happy.**

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><p>He attended the funeral. He had stayed secluded in the back, avoided people at all costs, and had left mid-way through, but he did attend, even if he hadn't wanted to. He knew it was rude to leave early, but it would've been even more rude to skip it altogether. He had planned on staying for the whole ceremony, really, he had. When he saw her, though, laying in that stupid casket, with her eyes closed, and arms folded over, holding a small rose over her stomach, he couldn't help but see the blood. All the blood.<p>

It was _his _fault. She was dead because of him.

People would say, " It's not your fault. It wasn't you."

But really, it was him. In a completely complicated and screwed up way, it was him. She was trying to save _him_, and if he had just done something, warned them that he knew something felt wrong when they went to the school, she could've lived. Fifty people wouldn't have to be attending a beautiful, bright, so-much-life-ahead-of-her, 17 year olds funeral.

So, when he stood there above her casket, he knew he couldn't do it. Blood flashed in his mind, the sword going clean through her stomach, Lydia screaming for her, and it just kept re-playing and re-playing. The " I'm so sorry, she was such a wonderful young lady," that seemed to go on repeat in the room made him want to puke.

" I'm so sorry, I killed your only daughter." Was what his mind had supplied in place for it. The room was spinning and tilting, and every person there seemed to glare at him, knowing he had caused this. He was the one who sent their precious girl away. He knew it was just his imagination, of course. No one knew the real story of how everything went down. It was stated as an accident. An _accident._ And somehow that just made everything worse.

He screwed up. It was _his_ accident.

The guilt was what made him leave. It was selfish, he was feeling bad for himself when he should be consoling all the other grieving people. He knew it, and he tried so hard not to make this about him, but the hallucinations wouldn't stop, screams and blood were a constant movie in his head, and he couldn't take it.

It was his fault, his fault, his fault.

He went home, unnoticed.

No one saw him for three days.

**0-0-0-0**

They all knew he was grieving the worst. They tried so hard to convince him that he didn't do it. It was _not _him, and if they wanted to get technical about it, they all played a role in her death.

It had been a month since her death, and since the removal of the Nogitsune, and he was still distant. Extremely distant.

When they saw him, he looked like death. He was pale, and his eyes were sunken in. His hair was a mangled mess, and they were all sure he had been wearing the same shirt he had been a week before, the last time they saw him.

He didn't talk much. His sarcasm was clean gone. They hadn't heard him laugh in forever.

And he was scary. When they tried to speak to him, he seemed to have so much anger, and he would shout and his eyes would be emotionless. His whole body shook when he yelled, and he started threatening them at certain points.

" Do you think.." Lydia had began one day, asking the question everyone was thinking.

"No, _no."_ Scott had stated, as if what she was going to ask was the most absurd thing, but really, he had been thinking the same." It's gone. The Nogitsune is out of him."

They weren't worried.

...

...

They should've been.

**0-0-0-0**

His friends looked at him differently, at least the times he actually saw them, they did.

He didn't blame them, though. He realized it, too. He felt it. And it scared him.

Anger practically boiled inside him, and he didn't know what to do. He could contain it with the Nogitsune, or the Nogitsune could do something about it, at least. You would've thought getting rid of the Nogitsune would've been a fixer, but it wasn't. He almost wished the Nogitsune was still possessing him, and doesn't that just sound fucked up. It was true, though, but he wouldn't dare say that. Sadly, the Nogitsune had began to be a part of him, and the weeks he had been possessed, he had gotten used to that extra little voice in his head, bantering back and forth with him. He got used to having someone there, and having him kept everything under control, ironically enough. Now, he felt empty, like something was missing, and anger. So much anger.

He tried shouting to release it, but that rarely helped. He had punched his dad. His _dad. _He didn't even say sorry afterwards, and his dad hadn't even said something to initiate the punch, he was just there, and the anger hit him like a wave, so his dad got the blow of it.

Sometimes, he would be looking at someone and imagine himself holding a knife, and stabbing that person, blood pooling everywhere. He would find himself smirking, and his hands shaking.

That scared him, that bit.

**0-0-0-0**

He tried going to school, really he did. He didn't attend for the first month, and his dad had actually dragged him out of the house to go to school, it had worked, until he had had a full blown panic attack in the car and punched violently at his father. He didn't attend for another week.

When he finally did go to school, everyone looked at him differently. They treated him and his friends like they would break any second, which was probably close to true for him, but it still pissed him off. He hated being tiptoed around, and having teachers ask you if you're okay every time you zoned out didn't make it much better. Because them asking if he was okay was them really thinking, " Oh boy, he saw his friend get killed last month, and he's zoning out, maybe he's gonna start bawling any second now," but really, half of the time he was simply zoned out for his lack of sleep, and fuck them for reminding him of her.

On a particular Friday he had been zoned out from lack of sleep (again) and he may have been thinking back to that night (again), and his teacher had quietly walked up to his desk, crouched down slightly, and said, " Are you alright? I know these past months have been rough, do you-" And holy shit, he had had enough of this stupid pity party for him.

" Stop asking me if Im fucking okay, unless you want to get punched," He had yelled, and the classroom had gone dead silent, many turning their heads to look at him.

Because no way did _he_ just say that, of all people. And maybe, wow he's completely lost it.

That didn't go over well with the teacher.

Or his father.

**0-0-0-0**

It was gone,

It was gone,

It was gone,

The Nogitsune was gone.

That's what everyone said.

But sometimes, if he listened closely, he could hear the raspy breath, chanting,

"Let me in."

He didn't know whether to celebrate or cry.

**0-0-0-0**

It was gone, everyone said.

It was gone, he told himself.

But deep down, half of it was still there.

It had left a gaping hole, scarring him forever.

**0-0-0-0**

He didn't know when he started referring to himself as "we". He still rarely realized when he did it. It was mainly his friends who would catch him on it. If his father heard it, he didn't say anything.

He had been at his locker, surrounded by Lydia, Scott and Kira. They were rambling about something he wasn't paying attention to. Suddenly they were gone and Scott was calling out to him, " Hey, you coming?"

" Yeah, we'll be there in a sec," He paused as he shoved his books around, " We just have to get something real quick," He could feel Scott stop, and tense. It made himself pause and turn around to look at Scott, who's eyes had been like ten feet high.

Scott gulped, took a step forward," We?"

"Huh?"

" You said, and I quote, ' Yeah, we'll be there in a sec,'" Scott watched as his eyes glazed over in confusion.

" Oh, well,_ I'll_ be there in a sec..." He stuttered. Had he actually said 'we'? Why would he say that, it was gone, gone, gone, gone, why would he-

" Are you okay?" Scott had practically been in his face, hand on his shoulder, staring him down.

" Fine."

When Scott saw him standing in the hallway five minutes later, focused on his hands, mumbling numbers as his fingers shook uncontrollably, he didn't say anything.

No one said anything.

Why didn't they?

...

...

They should've.

**0-0-0-0**

He couldn't breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

Walls fumbled in front of him

Red danced across his vision.

Words tumbling:

You're a hero.

In. Out. In. Out.

You're a oreh.

The words were falling.

They were falling.

He was falling. Breathe.

_Breathe._

Oure'y a reho.

Falling. Falling.

In.

Blink. Still there.

Out.

Youe'r a emonr

Count to ten.

**One**.

You're a smontore

**Two**.

In. Out.

_This isn't real._

**Three**.

You're a montesr

**Four.**

You killed her

**Five**.

Brick walls enclosing.

_You're a monster._

Words changing. Rearranging.

Come on, count!

**Six**. Breathe.

Allison is dead

**Seven**.

_It was you_

Shouting:

_You're a monster._

Inhale.

**Eight**, **Nine**.

Exhale.

Let me in.

**_Ten_**

**0-0-0-0**

He finally felt _happy_. He hadn't felt happy in forever. Everything felt okay. He didn't feel empty. He felt satisfied and in control. He felt strong and powerful.

" We can destroy all of them," That familiar raspy voice had whispered from nowhere but everywhere at once.

He smirked and then a sudden realization of, _Wait, what?_ And thats when he looked, and then saw.

And he couldn't breathe, and wait _no, no, no,_ this is not how it's supposed to be.

It was gone. They had gotten rid of it. It was gone.

Then why was it _here?_

His hands were shaking and crimson red dripped from them. And suddenly there was screaming and blood was to his left and right, and red covered his vision. It comforted him yet scared him all at once. And no, no, no, not real.

" You're gone," He had yelled as he looked everywhere the blood wasn't, but there was blood everywhere, and he couldn't breathe.

" Why don't you accept it?" Came the raspy voice again, and shit, he hadn't expected it to answer. The voice echoed everywhere and he made the mistake of looking down, and at his feet laid so many familiar faces.

One-uh classmate, two-uh classmate, three-uh classmate, four.

" Answer me," Came a shout and he snapped his head back up and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He licked his lips, stuttered,

" This isn't real. _You_ aren't real. We got rid of you." Don't look down, don't look down.

" But you miss me," It wasn't a question. There was something in his hands, now. He could feel it.

_No, _"Yes." It was a knife. A knife was in his hands.

A low chuckle filled around him and he was confused, so confused, but yet happy. And how the fuck could that be.

He wanted to puke. Could he just puke?

" So why don't you do what you've been dying to do for the past two months?"

His mind screamed _no_, but his body begged to differ. He was suddenly grasping the knife, and thrusting it into someone, and he could feel the pain they were in, and holy shit, how wonderful it was to be able to be the one on the side of giving the pain, instead of the one receiving. He stabbed the person over and over and over. His mind was screaming,

_Stop, Stop, Stop!_

But it made him feel better, so much better. He flipped the body over and-

_Oh my God._

Allison's pale, dead face stared back at him. Suddenly he was screaming and crying,

" No, not her! It wasn't supposed to be her! No!" The knife was dropped onto the ground, and he didn't realize he was cradling her, and no no no no. Not again, not again.

" I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

Sorry for killing you, Sorry for taking pleasure in your pain, sorry, sorry, sorry.

He clenched his eyes shut, tears streaming out. When his eyes opened up again, he was in his bed, sitting upright.

_It was just a dream_

He was still upset and panicky, but better, much better. It had all been a dream, and he hadn't killed all those people. Killed _her _again.

Then suddenly, the reoccurring dread hit him, and something told him,

" Don't look down, don't look down."

He looked down.

His hands were covered in red.

_No._

He cried for an hour as he scrubbed his hands raw, getting rid of the blood, of everything.

By morning he had convinced himself it had been a coincidence, and/or a hallucination.

Ah ah ah, gullible little boy.

**0-0-0-0**

He got a phone call the next morning from Scott.

"Schools cancelled today," He had said, but he didn't sound happy, and he knew why. The only reason school was ever canceled was because of police matters, it was always something serious.

" What?" He stuttered, nearly dropping the phone.

" They,ah,uh...half of our classmates are dead." And suddenly he had dropped the phone and he was crying, and screaming.

And shit it was him.

He was so stupid, thinking it hadn't been him. He had done it. Worst of all he had liked it.

Wait, no.

They, _they_ had liked it.

**0-0-0-0**

When he had given him the news he had heard the phone drop, and crying, and what the hell, was Stiles actually crying?

"Hello..? Are you still there?" And then he realized he wasn't there, he was too busy having a panic attack. Why was Stiles having a panic attack, he wasn't even friends with any of their classmates- and _oh._

_Shit, shit, shit._

But, wait, no. The nogitsune was gone.

It couldn't have been Stiles.

Could it?

When he heard a raspy voice on the other end of the phone saying, " We did good. " He ran out of his room and into his car as fast as he could.

**0-0-0-0**

There was a banging on their door, and why was anyone banging on their door? They just wanted to be left alone. They had killed those people. But they had never felt better, then why were they having a panic attack, and oh my freaking god would the banging on the door just stop.

Suddenly Scott was standing in their bedroom, and he had let himself in, how freaking rude.

" Why are you here," They snapped, causing Scott to jump back slightly.

" I, uh, heard you on the phone...sounded like a panic attack. I just," Scott cut his sentence off slowly as his eyes caught a glimpse of several red stains on the bed sheet in the corner. He snapped his eyes back to Stiles, cleared his throat, " Wanted to make sure you were okay."

" We're-" Stiles shook his head, blinked, " I'm..I'm fine." He smiled lightly, scratching at his neck. " So if you could leave now.." He stated quite rudely, going to shove Scott out.

"Actually," Scott shouted, resisting Stiles' shoves, " I have another question..."

"Yeah?" He gulped, switching from leg to leg nervously.

"Did you kill them?" Scott hesitated, not quite looking him in the eyes.

_Deny, deny, deny. _then, _he knows, lie lie lie._

But his mind and mouth had two different ideas and he didn't know if he was proud of his response, which was, "Yes."

Scott was a taken back by the bluntness of his answer, and really he hadn't expected him to say yes. Something inside Stiles told him _Trick him. We need to play it off. Cry, fake a panic attack, something. ._

So they did. They started the waterworks,started shaking and stuttering. "Scott," they made sure to make it high pitched, broken and confused-like the night he was lost in the basement. " I don't know what's happening. We...I-I didn't mean to. I don't know what to do, I need...I need," they pretended to break down and started to take short breaths, putting their hand out as if in need of help.

They couldn't help but smirk when Scott bought it. He grabbed them by the shoulders, speaking calmly, "It's okay, I don't blame you Stiles, we'll figure this out." And he was staring at them, speaking nonsense.

They knew they had to do something about Scott. He knew they killed those people, surely he heard them over the phone. They had to do something. They grasped at the knife behind them- the one they found next to the bed when they woke up.

_He's our friend. My friend. He's my brother._

He argued, but was met with another argument, _We know. We love him, we do. But he'll turn us in, keep us from pursuing our happiness, you know it._

And, how could they argue with that? They waited until Scott was close enough. They grasped Scott's shoulder and with a hint of real sadness, "We're sorry," was spoken as the knife was thrashed against Scott's throat. Scott's eyes conveyed confusion and betrayal as blood trickled from his throat and crimson gurgled from his mouth. He didn't last long and soon they were finally alone.

This is real. This isn't real. This is-

**_Stiles woke up screaming._**


	2. Lasting Words

**I would like to make clear that this story is not really done by chapters, it's more of separate short stories that can be read together, but don't have to be. So basically this is a short series about Stiles' and how he is coping and not necessarily a 'chapter' story where every 'chapter' starts exactly after the past chapter. You can read it that way, if you'd like, but it is not necessary.**

* * *

><p>Riddles. He fucking hated riddles.<p>

" Write down a riddle, and then read it aloud," his English teacher had said, and everyone groaned, and then he froze.

What did this pertain to English class?

" What belongs to you but others use it more than you do? " He heard from across the room.

" Your name," he mumbled, soft enough so no one could hear him. He glanced at the door, at the clock, tapped his pen quickly, eyed the door again.

" It's a riddle, Stiles," He heard the raspy voice, and a shiver went down his spine. He shut his eyes, tapped his pen faster; louder. A white backwards, chalk drawn five on a grungy, cold stone wall squeezed itself into his head.

" Not real," He mumbled, opened his eyes again.

At school. He was still at school. And riddles, they had to come up with fucking riddles.

He made to get up- because no, he couldn't do this. He couldn't.

" Stilinski," his teacher had shouted at his rude interruption, " What do you think you're doing?" She eyed him and Stiles gaped awkwardly. And great, he was making a scene. He just wanted to leave.

" I-I-uh," Scott was staring at him now, ready to follow him out the door," bathroom."

" It can wait." She folded her arms over her chest, glared when he let out a loud puff of air.

"But-"

"Sit!" She shouted, pointing to the ground, and great now he was sitting. And they were reading their stupid riddles again, and he blocked it out, blocked out the voice,

" It's a riddle, Stiles,"

He tapped his pen faster, bit his tongue.

_Not real, Not real._

_You're not real_, he almost said.

" We're trying to sa-" and the voice was cut off when he could hear loud and clear, some stupid ass thinks-he's-a-genius motherfucker read out loud:

" Everyone has it, but no one can lose it,"

_Shit, no no no_, and a quick, _fuck you dude, you couldn't have read a different riddle?_

And maybe he was having a panic attack, but he couldn't tell and he didn't really care. Because he was back in that basement, not the hospital, but the_ basement_, with_ him_, and the smell hit him like a wave, and a familiar pain was searing through his foot. And it was dark, and he could see that stupid five, and then he could see all the bandages and no, _please_ no, not real.

" Everyone has it, but no one can lose it," The Nogitsune had said as he scraped against the wall, and Stiles shouted, loudly, because this time he knew the answer and maybe, just maybe it could stop him,

" Shadow," He managed to get out before he screamed again, the pain on his ankle somehow increasing rapidly. The Nogitsune made no indication of hearing Stiles' answer.

" Everyone has it, but no one can lose it,"

" A shadow!" He screamed louder. Why was he acting like he couldn't hear him? He knew the answer, he was shouting it! There was no way he couldn't hear him.

" Everyone has it, but no one can lose it," and what the hell, he knew it, why wasn't he listening!

" Shadow!" He screamed, " A shadow,"

" I can't hear you, what is it Stiles? You're running out of time." Time? Running out of time, what did that mean?

" I've already told you, a shadow, it's a shadow!" Tears were making their way down his face, and he couldn't help but scream 'shadow' continuously.

" Ah, times up!" Times up, what did he mean, what did he mean? He had tried to ask that question aloud, but it died on his lips and was instead replaced with a rough scream. His ankle felt like it had been chopped off and something was burning in his chest, and he didn't_, couldn't_, stop screaming.

Scott watched as Stiles sat back down after being yelled at. He glanced as he looked aimlessly around the room, and couldn't help but cringe at the continous tapping of his pen on the desk. He reached over and poked his arm,

" Dude, are you okay?" And yeah, what a stupid question because it was answered with a lie ninety percent of the time, and he realized he probably wasn't okay, because they were currently talking about riddles, and the last time Stiles had been asked to answer a riddle, it had not been the best of situations.

Stiles had pushed Scott's arm away, mumbled lowly, " Fine," and then stared down at his desk. Scott sighed loudly as he slumped back down into his seat. He sat in his desk, bored, as he listened to the extremely stupid riddles, and honest to god, he himself was about to leave, because this is was ridiculously stupid, and then some idiot kid had to go and ask _the _ riddle. He immediately straightened up, gawked at the kid and then snapped his head over to Stiles.

Stiles was rigid, the tapping had stopped and he just stared at his desk.

" Stiles, dude, are you okay, seriously?" Scott had reached over his desk and grasped Stiles' arm.

His hand was rudely shoved off and he was answered with the same quiet mumble, " Fine." Except now it almost sounded more agitated. He asked again, and was answered with the same thing. He huffed and sat back down in his seat, because if Stiles' said he was fine and didn't want any help, then that was fine with him. Let him be stubborn. He hardly ever wanted anyone's help these days, anyways. Everyone knew he was struggling. Something was definitely off with Stiles, but he kept quiet and seemed to try his best to act normal.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Stiles' writing very quickly, and sloppily. He tried to ignore it, because if this is how Stiles' copes or something, then fine, nothing was wrong with that, he guessed. After five minutes of listening to kids read their 'original' riddles, and watching that pen move a hundred miles per hour in the corner of his eye, he had had enough.

He reached over carefully and tried to grasp the top of the pen, but when he did so, Stiles' jumped slightly and basically shoved him away,

" Stiles' it's okay," Scott narrowed his eyes at his best friend, who continued to write on the..._desk?_

Stiles' mouth seemed to quiver, and Scott was sure he heard a low, scared, " Shadow."

"What?" He asked, as he leaned closer to Stiles again, kicked his foot to try to get his attention, but he got no answer, he just kept scribbling away. And then he realized, he was zoned out, completely zoned out, in his own world, like when he had wrote ' wake up' over and over. He then realized, crap, he needed to do something. As he went to raise his hand to ask the teacher for them to leave, Stiles' started screaming. Not one simple scream, but a full lasting bloody murder scream.

Scott nearly fell out of his desk, as did the others. The teacher seemed startled as well, muttering a ," What in the world?"

Scott had rushed over to Stiles, grabbed his shoulders, and did whatever he could to snap him out of it.

"You're okay. It's okay, it's okay." He had muttered as Stiles kept screaming, his whole body shaking. Scott didn't know what else to do, aside from yelling at everyone to stay back, that he was having a sort of panic attack, and that they needed to let him handle it.

At one point Stiles' screaming came to an abrupt stop, and in a choked breathy, deep murmur, out came, " Let me in." And then he started laughing, a menacing, mocking, laugh. Scott didn't know if he should hold Stiles tighter or drop him and get as far away as he could, because that was _not_ Stiles.

"He's insane," A student had muttered in the background, right before Stiles' laughing formed into a slow sob, and then a full out scream again. Five seconds later Stiles opened his eyes, took in a big breath of air.

He looked straight at Scott, dead eyes trained on his, and stated,

" _Run_."

**xxxx**

Scott had immediately taken him out of the classroom after that. Scott asked him all sorts of questions, but Stiles didn't know what was going on. No, he didn't remember laughing, or saying " let me in". Yes he remembered saying "run," but no, he didn't know why he said it.

And hell no, he was not going to talk about _it._

Scott didn't expect him to, though. It was probably best anyways, it could've set off another panic attack and they didn't really need that.

They had gone back to the classroom to retrieve their stuff they had left behind. When they re-entered the teacher had looked at Stiles, and he immediately barked, " Don't talk to me," and he hadn't meant for it to be so rude, but he didn't want to talk about it anymore, especially with his teacher, who was partially at fault for the panic attack, anyways.

They had walked quickly back over to their desks and Stiles froze. He swallowed nervously, and rubbed his hand over his face.

" No," He stated loudly, causing Scott to turn around and see what the matter was, " Damn it, no, no!" He shouted and when Scott looked down, he understood. What Stiles had been writing...it was all over the desk.

" Shadow" was now literally covering every inch of the desk, almost to the point of the word being un-legible. The further down you went on the desk, the more messy and scrawled out it got. Scott noticed in some areas, Stiles had been writing so hard, the word was actually engraved into the wood.

They spent thirty minutes trying to get off the words, but none of it would budge. Some of the letters ended up getting smudged, but it didn't matter. It was engraved, it was going to last forever.

A permanent mark of his insanity.

**xxxx**

Teachers and students began to notice words carved or written in random places all along the school. Teachers would come into school in the mornings with "Shadow" written on the whole surface of the black board, and it didn't quite make sense, because it was always before the school was opened to students, and it was there, almost every morning.

Students noticed the words mainly in the bathroom and library, of all places. The tables in the library had " Don't let them in" carved all over them, and it freaked the librarian out so much, she had the tables covered with paper.

"Wake up," had been written in sharpie on different areas of the mirrors in the bathrooms and it had taken a week to scrub it all off.

Within two weeks every inch of the school was decorated with the ( according to the students ) creepy as fuck messages. They had three different assemblies about them and who was the culprit. Stiles knew it was him, but he never remembered writing them, and he hadn't even realized he had been doing it, until other people had started pointing it out.

He and his dad went to the principle a week later, explaining it was him, and why he did it. He hadn't wanted too, but he figured everyone probably wanted to know who was leaving really weird messages all along the walls and tables.

From then on when anybody saw him sitting, restlessly scribbling away, they didn't say anything.

They didn't say anything because he saw his friend die, he blamed himself for her death, or so they heard, and he blacked out and wrote crazy messages.

They didn't say anything because they took pity on the poor insane boy.

**xxxx**

" Hello?" Scott tiredly asked as he answered his phone, trying to ignore the alarm clock that had its red numbers shining 2:13 AM at him. He was greeted with a low whimper, and, he knew, _Stiles. _" What's wrong?" He paused as he sat up in his bed, " Did you have the nightmare again, because it's not-"

" Don't let them in," Stiles interrupted shakily, his voice cracking slightly.

"What?"

" Don't let them in, Don't let them in," Stiles continued to chant through the phone, and Scott was really fucking confused. Stiles whimpered again before Scott spoke.

" What do you mean?"

" I can't-" He broke off, whimpering again, " I can't let them in. I can't. They're trying, they're-HE'S TRYING, HE'S TRYING," and suddenly Stiles was screaming and Scott was still confused, and worried, and what was he talking about, good lord.

" You're okay, you can do it, Stiles," Scott reassured him, because he had to calm down Stiles somehow, and this was the only way he could think of, " Just tell him to leave, scream at him to fuck off. Stiles, you're strong, you can-"

" I'm...I'm trying," and good, Scott thought, he was still there, " But he won't stop screaming at me, he wants in, he's trying, and I can't...I can't, but I'm trying, I tried, I," suddenly his voice cut off and Scott could hear him hitch in a breath, " no," he could barely hear on the other end, "oh god," and what the ever living hell was fucking happening, then a broken, " I'm sorry," and then the line was dead, and Scott was screaming,

" Stiles!"

**xxxx**

Scott had gone over to Stiles' house to find that he was asleep, with his phone barely grasped in his hand that was hanging off the edge of the bed. That's when he knew he had called him when he was sleeping, again. It made sense, and in a way it made him feel better, because whatever Stiles had been talking about was not real and had only been a nightmare.

He didn't wake him up because Stiles needed his sleep, even if he was having a nightmare. So, he sat carefully on the bed and sighed loudly. He glanced around his room and realized it was even messier than usual. Slowly his eyes landed on the back of Stiles' bedroom door, and his eyebrows went up in confusion.

" Fuck off, you're not real," was roughly carved on the whole back, and a pocket knife was still stuck in the 'l'.

Scott almost wanted to laugh, because this time the message Stiles had left behind wasn't some stupid mysterious sentence, it was a simple, I'm-tired-of-your-shit, response. Plus it was also what he had told Stiles to say to whoever he was talking about.

Scott froze when Stiles stirred in his bed and muttered, " _We_...we can't, I can't let them in."

**xxxx**

After several days of nightmares, he realized something. In all of his dreams the Nogitsune had either chose to ignore or pretend he hadn't heard him when Stiles' answered (correctly) his riddles or questions. Sometimes Stiles was simply unable to talk at all, and those were the worst. He slowly came to the realization that all of his answers in his dreams were the words carved all around his house.

So, after discussing with his father and Scott, they came to the conclusion that the only way he could 'successfully' answer the question was by writing it or carving it somewhere. When he couldn't say it, he wrote it over and over until the Nogitsune took it as an answer. It was a coping mechanism that just happened to make him look like a psycho lunatic.

His father gave him a big notepad and several pens hoping he would use it when he had his nightmares, instead of destroying half of the walls in the house. Scott made sure to note that it had been his idea too.

The notepad worked, and after a while, the whole notebook was almost filled, and slowly he stopped writing words altogether. There were no more new words on his bedroom wall, the kitchen wall, or anywhere at the school.

But there were the permanent ones, the lasting ones. The ones on the desk, the ones on the school walls, he could beg for them to throw out the desks, but he was always met with, " You wrote on too many, we can't get rid of all of them, we don't have enough money to replace them," and he had wanted to scream and punch the guy, because how expensive can a desk be?

He tried to avoid the desks he had written or carved into, but the dude had been right. He had destroyed a shit ton of desks. Every time he finally had himself convinced he was better, he would have to sit at one of the desks, and read his writing for half an hour, and it was like a punch to the gut. He had to walk in a place that would forever remind him and others, how insane he was.

But that didn't mean he wasn't better, or getting better at least, because he _was _getting better.

_I'm better, I'm better, I'm better...I can't let them in, I can't let them in_

**xxxx**

Buzzing sounded from the table and Scott quickly picked up his phone, reading the message from Stiles:

**Run.**

**xxxx**

He woke up, phone clutched in his hand, which was ringing like crazy, but he didn't care enough to notice. All he could do was stare at his bedroom wall, which was covered with his own bright red (_not blood,not blood)_ handwriting. Forever scarred in his mind,

_**We kept our word, didn't we? We destroyed all of them. Destroyed us.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you all liked it! I plan on there being three more parts after this, so if you enjoyed this, please review or favoritefollow**


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